


Alone.

by ThatDuVoldeWoman_x



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:02:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23009749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDuVoldeWoman_x/pseuds/ThatDuVoldeWoman_x
Summary: A peek into Clarisse and Colin's marriage.
Kudos: 1





	Alone.

TW: Domestic Abuse & Sexual Assault. If these subjects offend you, please do not read any further. You have been warned.   
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1789

It'd begun as any other day; one where Clarisse had woken up early. The chores awaited her. Sliding out of the bed, she pulled on her robe, tending to the fire in the kitchen, stoking it until there was a roaring fire within. She'd have to chop some more firewood, later on, she noted, a small sigh escaping her. The ax was heavy and she could barely lift the damn thing. She slipped on a pair of Colin's boots, heading outside to the well and getting a bucket, dragging it inside, being careful not to slosh it on the floor as she filled the kettle, setting it on the rack so the water within would boil for tea. Moving around the house, she poured water into the pitchers for cleaning and when that was accomplished, she made her way to the outhouse. When they'd first moved here, she'd thought it a terrible thing; but it was better than a chamber pot. One less thing to clean--and one less thing to worry about Colin throwing at her when he was angry. Sparing a thought on him, she was even more pleased to have not found him passed out with a whiskey bottle in hand. She had no idea how he could drink so much. The whiskey was disgusting. She'd tasted it on his lips when he'd kissed her sloppily one evening. 

Once she'd had breakfast, a piece of bread with butter and hot tea, she dressed in a dowdy gown and had gone to the barn, milking their cow, Elsie, tending to their chickens--10 eggs today!--and seeing if their sow, Bitsie, had given birth to the piglets yet. (She had not.) Their horses were well enough and she made certain they had fresh water and hay. She was about to head back inside finally when she heard a voice. "Top of the mornin' to you, miss."

Jerking her head up, Clarisse blushed. She was sweating and she looked frightful, to be sure. There stood the neighbor boy, James Farrell. He was a year older than herself and spoke perfect French, thank heavens. He was a kind soul and she noticed he had new shoes for the horses. "Good morning," she spoke kindly, moving aside so he could move into the barn. "Best you work quickly before he arrives back." Everyone knew Colin. Everyone knew he was a bastard. 

Leaving him to tend to the horse's feet, she tended to her small garden, making certain that no critters had been at it--the rabbits were dreadful at times. However, she found it perfectly intact. Nothing had been chewed or bothered and once she finished, she went inside to clean up and change into a nicer dress. If she didn't look presentable when Colin came home, he'd have her head and considering the other bruises were just barely visible now, she'd enjoy continuing the trend of not being in pain. Putting her hair up, she moved into the kitchen, setting the kettle back on, and pulling a book out from behind a loose stone on the mantle. She was about to start reading when a knock came on the front door. Sighing, she put her book aside, heading to the door. Once more, James stood there. She didn't dare invite him in but she did come to stand on the porch, motioning to the rocking chairs, keeping distance. If James felt any type of disdain about it, he thankfully kept it to himself, smiling as she ran inside quickly to offer him a tankard of ale.

"How is your grandmother?" Clarisse asked kindly once she sat again, though she did her best to keep her eyes lowered, her hands folded in her lap, trying not to appear too interested. "Did she enjoy the pie? I sent her?" She had sent the woman a pie a few weeks prior for her 80th birthday, made of apples and cinnamon. Though she wasn't much of a cook, she could bake. Colin said it was her redeeming quality. Regardless, James smiled, "She loved it, as did I. She offered me a piece and I daresay it was the best pie I've ever had." Clarisse wasn't oblivious, noticing the way he was looking at her and complimenting her. He was flirting in a most subtle manner and though she appreciated it, it would go nowhere. The best she could do was hope someone killed Colin and left her a widow. God forgive her, but she would rather endure hellfire than her 'husband.'

"It pleases me to hear such," she responded with a smile, finally looking over at him. Noting the way his sandy toned hair fell into his eyes, his muscular arms and calloused hands--clearly he was a man unafraid of hard work. Freckles all upon his face and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. She allowed herself to wonder what it might be like to feel his lips against her own. For a few moments, they made polite chatter before he stood and took her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, treating her like a lady. 

"Je t'emmènerais si je le pouvais. Vous avez un ami en moi," he murmured against the flesh of her hand, those eyes meeting hers. An audible gasp left her. He would take her away if he was able...and she had a friend in him. She was flattered and she felt the blush in her cheeks ride. He smiled at her, winking, as she withdrew watching him leave. Unfortunately for the pair, Colin had arrived back and neither had noticed. James bowed his head politely to him as he passed, keeping his posture erect and mounted his own horse, riding off as if the hounds of hell were after him. The look on Colin's face said it all and Clarisse muttered a prayer, taking up the tankard, awaiting him to go in the house. "Good morning," she greeted him as he stomped up the stairs. She could smell the perfume on him along with booze. She dared not complain but the look on his face was pure hatred. 

She winced as he grabbed her by her hair, dragging her in the house, throwing her to the floor. "No, please, Colin!" She begged in her rudimentary English. "I am..." How did she say it? It was failing her. "Désolé! Je suis désolé!" She apologised. "I did not do anything!" She contemplated crawling to the kitchen for the shears and cutting off her hair, giving him one less thing to use against her; even though he had often told her how much he loved it. Her mind went back to the rare moments when he had watched as she'd brushed it. Still, he gripped hard, roaring at her in a language she didn't even know before he switched over to French, making certain that she understood him. 

"Ye fuckin' frigid bitch!" He snarled at her. If she didn't know better, she'd have sworn his eyes were red but as he glared at her again, they were dark brown as always. Raising her arms, she covered her face, grunting as his foot made contact with her ribs. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as he kicked her again, certain that he had cracked bone this time. Gasping for air, she grabbed his leg, in an attempt to make him stop. "I didn't---please, stop--" she begged softly. His strength, however, overpowered her as always and he shook her off easily. "Fancy him, do you? Want him between your thighs?" He continued, "You want him to fuck you?" Moving swiftly, he pushed her down, hand on her throat as he straddled her, using his free hand to pull at her dress, the delicate pearl buttons scattering across the floor. He was like a feral beast, and she knew what was coming. She pushed at him, crying out as he backhanded her hard across the face. Stars circled her head even though she pushed at him again.

Loosening his grip on her throat, he moved to loosen his trousers and raised her skirts, he forced himself upon her once more. "Ah, there you go, you bitch, moan for me. Pretend I'm that fuckin' boy." Clarisse pinched her eyes shut, biting down on her lip, refusing to give him the pleasure. "Ye 'ave a man like me an' ye'd rat'er fuck a mere boy. I doubt 'is balls 'ave e'en dropped, lass," Colin laughed drunkenly, taking her face and making her look at him. If he was bothered by her refusal, by now, he didn't care. He simply thrust into her as if she were one of the whores in town until he was spent. With each thrust into her, the pain of her broken ribs nearly stole her breath away. If there was a God, surely, he would let her die. It was all she wanted. 

And yet, God was silent and so was Satan. Clearly, he had no need of the demon atop her and God had no mercy for her. Colin groaned loudly as he finally released within her. Clarisse felt the need to vomit overtake her, but she managed to swallow it down. If she threw up on him, she had no idea what hell he would put her through. She was sore from his force, her ribs were surely broken and she knew she likely had a bruise on her face. She could feel a tooth loose and knew she'd have to visit the barber in town. He would yank it and probably give her a few coins if it was in good enough shape. (He'd use it in a set of dentures for someone, more than likely.) Her mind went to a million places, finally settling on the visage of her father, wishing he could save her. Or even her brother. Her mother and sister wouldn't care. But Fred was in Rome and Father was dead. Clarisse sighed softly.

Closing her eyes again, wishing herself somewhere else, anywhere else, she bit on her lip, remaining silent as he took his pleasure in punishing her. When he finally rose up, he arranged himself again. He looked at her and laughed, nudging her with his foot. "That'll teach you," he laughed coldly before heading out of the house again. Clarisse remained on the floor until she could hear the whinny of his horse and the sound of him riding away. Managing to get to her feet, she slowly made her way outside, dragging herself to the outhouse, throwing up every bit of what remained in her stomach. Clutching her sides, she grunted as she fell, crawling to the house and weeping as she made it back inside. This was supposed to be her safe place. Her home.

And yet...she had never felt so alone in all of her seventeen years.


End file.
